


help()

by bowblade



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowblade/pseuds/bowblade
Summary: And just like thatyou're gone.





	help()

**Author's Note:**

> Would you believe I found a handwritten draft of this at the bottom of a bag I used for a job over a year ago, that I don't even remember writing in the first place? Because that's exactly what happened. I typed it up, gave it a polish, and here we are. (Past me hated this, incidentally - there's a note to that effect - to which I'm baffled, because wtf, past me, why must you hurt me in this way? I wasn't ready for these sudden Red feelings?)
> 
> One of my favourite theories is whether Red can hear the Transistor's voice or not (read: extra angst) and... well. Yeah. Takes place immediately prior to the start of the game.

Cold, crisp, Cloudbank air.

She remembers that from before, the blissful night sky after the rush of warmth that came with a thousand eyes fixated on her.

It's not like that anymore. Fingers flex against granite, and there's a dull throb she doesn't truly feel, like an ache. The cold night makes her shiver, its quietness empty. She is utterly alone. She doesn't know-

No. No, she does know. That's the worst of it.

She picks herself up, limbs shaking as she stands, disorientation - displacement - not the only thing making her blood run cold. The _panic_ , after the fact, slowly settling in... but it runs foul of her numbness, the evening's events naught but a dream. There's a dryness in her throat, and the sword-

_( Boxer, she thinks. )_

The sword impaled in her lover. So clean, no blood, merely asleep - but she knows. 

She _knows_.

Red recoils, turning, looking back - it can't be real, it can't, it is, it can't, if only someone could _help_ -

Red screams. A pure, unfiltered note of anguish, higher still than anything she's ever reached. 

Or would have been. No sound of horror escapes her lips, and that's worse, somehow, her despair smothered and so effectively silenced. Her arms wrap around her torso as she doubles forward to her knees, screaming or trying, choking or gasping, as she tries to say something, anything... but much as she knows why she's here, that her lover is dead, she knows she will never say anything again. Just as Boxer would never breathe, nor laugh, nor speak, nor press his lips to hers-

_( Red - oh god, Red, I can't - I'm here, I'm here, I'm here, please, Red, please, please - )_

How could Sybil do this? How could any of them?

Red rocks backward, hands around her knees, head buried in the golden sheen of her skirts. The sword had been meant for _her_. All along, meant for her, but Boxer had thrown himself in the line of fire. It had been a swift, efficient trade; her voice, and his life.

She couldn't stay here, not like this; they would come for her, and she would not let anyone decide that fate for her again.

The only person who could, would save her, was here with her already. That life was already emptied.

No one was coming to find her. No one was coming to save her. 

She only had herself. 

Tearing the dress is easy, clean. Once, twice - not short enough, again, another layer needing adjustment. She breaks the heels with a snap, adjusts her tights. Only then does she stand. Now she has a plan, she can't forget the cold. The crisp air is not enough to freeze, but it is enough to seek a lover's embrace.

Boxer's jacket. A poor substitute. But he would be with her, his scent, his _smell_... the last of him.

All that's left is the sword.

She doesn't want it, almost, but the Camerata cannot have it back. It calls to her, as if in a sickening twist she now owns it. It radiates with familiar warmth, an echo of a voice; impossible, but true. If she listens hard enough, it's as though she can hear words, words to go along with the constant hum in her ears. Was there something of him, still? Not truly gone, but trapped? Though mute, she could not allow herself to be blind.

It's a better alternative, one she would rather consider, and hold onto. Herself, and the sword. No voice and no body. She could skip town, or she could found out why they have done any of this. She could get Boxer...

Her hand ghosts across his cheek as she presses a kiss to his eyelids. The thought fades. She loved him so much. Even so, she cannot stay.

The country could wait.

_( Hey, Red._

_We're not going to get away with this, are we? )_

She takes hold of the hilt, and pulls.


End file.
